Exercises In Character
by Candy Apple Heart Attack
Summary: We're clueless as to what goes through that mind of his...but wouldn't you just love to find out?...
1. Telling the Heirs: Near

**Author's Note:** Alright guys! Here's the concept. This is not a whole new story, nor are the stories inside meant to be taken as a chronological set of events. These are writing exercises that Dale and I have done while trying to get into the minds of our most beloved DN characters. So, please--don't flame us and tell us that the story "has no plot" or that it's "confusing". Please, just read, okay? It will help a hell of a lot more if you do. I'm smiling for you, by the way. Aha.

So anyway, there's the concept. If you don't like it, go away.

* * *

Exercise Concept: This is supposed to be Near, during the meeting in Roger's office about L's death and his particular thought process. I'm calling this one (or rather this particular scene where Roger is telling the kids L's dead) "Telling the Heirs" and I have about three different version of it, depending on which character I'm writing. (You'll see later.) Near's a hard character to write so bear with me, alright? Hmm. I write these exercises (usually) from the first person point of view, because it helps get in their heads. Let me know what you guys think, alright? Thanks, lots. Love, Chip

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Telling The Heirs: Near

The day L died—or rather the day we select few were told of his death—Roger called us into his office and delivered the data in his unnecessarily comforting fashion, obviously trying to soften the blow for us. It wasn't necessary for me really—I was simply upset, but I would not break down into a yelling, sobbing mess like that fool Mello. I wasn't quite so childish. Still, I fiddled with the toy in my lap and pondered quietly how it was that L could have fallen for something so obvious, so silly—he, who always advised me to be on the look out for simple solutions that sometimes made more sense than the complexities I unraveled later on.

My puzzle box wasn't too complex. I left it in my room though—bored of it, already, I suppose. I would have to tell Roger I needed a new one.

Wasn't everything that happened during the Kira case all about simplistic answers? That's what the data led me to believe and that is what I think L knew, just before his death; he knew he had purposely over looked the answer and therefore, defeated himself in the process. The equation panned out right, but it was…more personal, I suppose. No—it _had_ to be something more personal; L would never have been tricked or connived by some common charmer of a criminal.

Criminals were punished by super heroes in the popular comics and story books. Idly, I wondered if there was a new action figure I could commandeer from one of the other children. This old, beat-up plug-doll was rotund in the middle and ever-smiling in the face. I wanted something new, without the rosy cheeks and piano-key teeth.

I turned the little plastic doll over in my hand, analyzed the smooth way it rolled, categorizing it as "well-worn"--and then discarding from my thoughts altogether. Roger suggested we do something together—work together, Mello and I. Typical Mello, unable to control his temper—or restrain his jealousy. I turned my eyes away because the display disgusted me.

"What do you think of the idea, Near?" That was Roger, being so kindly, so gentle. I offered him the best of my attentions, directing my eyes to his lips because I understand his aversion to my direct gaze and have categorized it as "uncomfortable". I did my level-best to sound interested—but that particular affection of attitude lies well within the range of those acting skills I never bothered to memorize and so I left the attempt in its infancy. "I think the idea has merit in theory, Mr. Roger—but it's absolutely hopeless in real practice. Mello and I cannot work together without collision and disorder." I paused, to allow him to interject, but there was nothing. "That sort of thing is not conducive to finding out the identity of Kira." I didn't feel the need to share with either of them that I already strongly suspected the true identity of that killer.

I wanted some dice, now. There was a blue-print forming in my mind for a new tower of dice and a whole plaza to build beneath it.

Very suddenly, there was a mass of golden-blonde hair in my face and Mello was there, hauling me up from my chair with one hand clutching at the front of my pajamas. I sincerely hoped the buttons didn't pop at the strain. It would be tedious to sew them on later.

"What the hell, Near! You think you're so much better than me?!" Another of this boy's particularly annoying habits—stupid, rhetorical questions. I wanted to sigh—because I was missing the opportunity to build my dice tower. This was taking too long. I had information to quantify and plazas to lay out.

"Don't be ridiculous, Mello. The facts very clearly prove that I _am_ better than you. It's not just my own personal thought—though it appears I was, as usual, correct."

I was dropped unceremoniously back into my seat and Mello whirled away from me, thankfully. He turned to face Roger and I watched disinterestedly. Watching Mello make an emotional fool of himself was such a common occurrence that it no longer held the same unbridled amusement for me that it once had.

"Roger! Do you see what I have to put up with?! He's a big-headed cry baby who cares more for his toys more than he does about being L's heir!" The blonde was pointing at me with a single, accusatory finger.

I put the plug-doll over my own forefinger like a puppet and held it up in front of my face, waving it slowly side to side. "That's a very cruel thing to say, Mello." I point the doll at him, "Cruel, but not uncommon. I have come to understand that it is your general way of doing things--to rant and rave and throw fits but it's all very unseemly and hurts my ears." My puppet danced a little jig for me and I offered the blonde my direct gaze, catching his own firmly. "Besides...you shouldn't be so upset over my obvious superiority. It's really not your fault that your genes stunted any possibility you had of being an intelligent, worth-while being."

"What?! You little twerp—!" Mello was cut off as Roger suddenly came around the desk and seized him by the shoulders, holding him back. I watched. Violence--number two on my list of Mello's typical reactions to basic facts. I knew it and Roger, kindly gentlemen that he was, knew it as well.

Roger shook the blonde by the shoulders a little. "Mello? Mello! Listen to me, boy—you must be calm! Do not be so emotional. We must talk this out now and decide what you'd like to do. L appointed you to be his successors, the both of you--and Matt. Now that the time has come we must not fail him. We must push on, even though L is gone." The man, I noted, sounded tired. His reaction as I categorized it was "sorrowful". I looked down at the carpeting to give him the privacy that I heard people wanted during emotional moments.

"Argh! Lemme go, Roger! Lemme go!" Mello's voice sounded thicker to me—like my plug-doll's waist—and I could imagine that, typical of him, there would be tears. I decided immediately that it was not something I wished to see today.

Rising from my chair slowly, I placed my bare feet down on the carpet and shuffled across the room, careful to avoid the swinging, snarling beast that was Mello. He was glaring after me, I was sure of it—I could feel the weight of an angry gaze burning into the back of my neck.

I removed the plug-doll from my finger and placed it down on the decorative table beside the door to Roger's office, turning it so that the smiling, overly-happy face could view all the horrendous hilarity of an angry Mello trying to fight off the tenacious, trapping arms Roger had wrapped around him. Maybe the plug-doll would find it more entertaining than I did this time.

"Mr. Roger, I'm very upset to hear about the death of our beloved L. I will pray for him." I paused for a three second interval--an acknowledgement of the weight and power of this grave news. "However, I would like to return to my room now and will be going there at this moment. Good day, sir." I turned the knob over in my hand, careful to keep the length of my pajamas sleeve between me and the cool metal.

"Near, please wait…"

I turned my head minutely to look at Roger, "Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Roger. There is one other thing I require." I pointed my sleeve at the plug-doll grinning madly on his table, "I've tired of those. Please bring me others. And a new assortment of puzzles. I shall be passing the old ones onto the other children now. I require more." I bowed my head a little, respectively. "Thank you." I shuffled forward, my feet warmed by the friction.

"Near…"

I closed the door solidly behind me and moved away from it. The dice tower could wait no longer. I now decided that there should be another section of the plaza where great figures of importance might be buried. Maybe I could lay out a plot for L. I could make the shape easily enough.

The stairs were a little bit of a challenge, crawling up them on my hands and feet—I grew so tired of walking places. I was very tired at the present, having gone all day in this strange mode of non-entertainment. Emotional Mello and Sorrowful Roger and I—all day afternoon in that office, it seemed. I wanted to go lie down…or better yet, work on a new puzzle…

Where was the interlocking nail puzzle Julia had? It would be exceedingly simple, but…at least…it would entertain me. I could probably do it in fifteen seconds if I looked at it for a little while. My first working of it would take approximately five seconds then and would, of course, succeed.

After that, I could probably do it in two or three seconds, if I was so motivated to do so.

But I probably wouldn't be, so I didn't ponder it any longer.

I made it to the top of the stairs and moved on, toward my room. The door was closed—as I left it—but I could sense that there was someone behind the door, hiding in my room. As if to confirm my suspicions, the tiny Lego I placed on the inner knob of my door before I closed it was just visible beneath the crack of the door.

No doubt it was deliberately left there.

That someone had gone into my room made me mildly angry and I rose a little, straightened; my hand rose to touch my shoulder through the fabric of my sleeve and then went higher, my fingers emerging to twirl a particular curl into a tightened ringlet.

I didn't like people in my room.

I opened the door with my other hand, the sleeve covering my palm; in I went, looking over the intruder with my eyes. I wondered why this person was not as easily affected by my gaze as Roger and the others. I categorized _him_ as "annoying" and "persistent" and a whole host of other things.

But mostly "aggravating".

Matt was sitting on my carpet, playing with the neat pile of dice I'd left there on the corner of it, ruining and restacking the columns and rows I made until they were completely out of sequence. My Fibonacci sequence, ruined.

If I were any less used to this older boy's intrusions, I might have become very, _very_ upset.

Closing the door behind me, I shuffled around him. "Please leave my room, thankyou." I moved toward my bed, "I wish to rest." The mattress dipped under my weight.

The older boy gave me a grin that I filed away as "patronizing" and then rose to his feet, two of my precious ivory dice pinched between his fingers. "I'll be taking these, Near—thanks." He moved toward the door, the handle turning in his hand, "I told Mello I'd be up for a game of Monopoly later, but it seems all the dice have gone missing from all the game boards in the house. I thought it'd be wise to follow the clues—aha, and look where they led me!" He rolled his head along his shoulders, as if to eye the entire room at once, "Lucky break, huh?"

I tried to roll my eyes—it was unworthy of me. "Of course—how very brilliant of you, Matt. You are very nearly a detective with those skills." I glanced away, "Now, please…leave."

Matt glared at me for a moment longer—I could feel it—and then my door slammed shut. Finally, I could return to bed. The blueprints for my dice tower and plaza were stowed in my mind and memory for later consideration.

I climbed in between the blankets, feeling the coolness of the sheets I abandoned only a few short hours ago—or was it more? I couldn't care. I reached out, scooping the hard plastic bundle that was my Transformer into my arms and turned on my side. My other hand rose up and I imagined, for just a moment, that it might have been L touching my hair, twirling it around his long white fingers.

An utterly foolish thought.

I let sleep claim me.


	2. Telling the Heirs: Mello

**Author's Note:** Alright guys! Here's the concept. This is not a whole new story, nor are the stories inside meant to be taken as a chronological set of events. These are writing exercises that Dale and I have done while trying to get into the minds of our most beloved DN characters. So, please--don't flame us and tell us that the story "has no plot" or that it's "confusing". Please, just read, okay? It will help a hell of a lot more if you do. I'm smiling for you, by the way. Aha.

So anyway, there's the concept. If you don't like it, go away.

* * *

Exercise Concept: Alright, here's another vision/version of "Telling the Heirs", this time written from Mello's POV. Getting inside his head is unnatural for me, because I just don't have the drive or the megalomania necessary for it to work properly. Lol. That 's more Dale's department that mine, understand? Anyway. You may have noticed I said this is "another" version of "Telling the Heirs". That's because everytime I write the damn situation, I like different types of interaction--instead of the same ones over and over. Let me know what ya think. Love, Chip.

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Telling the Heirs: Mello

I stumbled down the hall, my feet carrying me but only just. I cursed beneath my breath, furious even as I noted that, again, I was breaking my own rules--the unwritten ones. Near never cursed. If I was going to prove I was better than that little brat--because I was--then I couldn't curse.

"Fuck!" I kicked a door on my way, rattling a frame on the wall in the process. Behind the glass, the unsmiling portrait of a man stared down, the matting beneath his feet marked with a single letter. L. I glared up at him and then turned the corner of the hall faster than necessary, desperate to get away from that unseeing, dead gaze...

Dead eyes...dead eyes of a dead man...

I nearly ran the length of the hall to get away from that picture and the dozens of others like it that hung in almost every corridor. Not paying attention--not the slightest bit--I collided abruptly with an oncoming body, knocking both myself and the person backwards a bit...

...My hand snapped out to catch the end of a convenient end-table, using it as leverage; the offending force was captured by my other hand and I pulled, yanking the person back upright. My glare, meant to scare away what ever stupid younger brat had run into me, met the blue-green eyes of my cousin, peeking up at me coolly from behind the fall of his red-burgundy bangs.

I grimaced and turned around, releasing my hold. I started to walk away...even got a few steps in...

"Mello?" A voice was calling after me, surprised and maybe a little hurt. I ducked my head and shuffled resolutely past another portrait of L, this time with him sitting in his favorite armchair in the den, eating sugar cubes.

I tried not to feel the way the thickness of sorrow coated my tongue and made it impossible to swallow.

"Mello!"

My steps turned into a jog as I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans. My fingers clutched blindly at the empty chocolate bar wrapper I found there and tears blurred my vision.

Another rule broken.

_Near_ never cried.

A hand descended down onto my shoulder and I turned, my hands coming out and up to slam the person back into a wall. I closed off his air with one hand pressed firmly over his windpipe, the other pressing his shoulder back into the paneling. My glare was level this time, I was sure--maybe rage focused me, but who knows?

...But really...

How could I possibly care about rage and anger and sorrow when Matt was staring back into my eyes with patient understanding, clearly unafraid by my outburst. I wanted to sigh--I should have known he wouldn't just let it go. He never did. Matt was my cousin, my closest friend--and, annoyingly, the only one I couldn't shake off with my temper.

His gaze was steady on mine, "You're not scaring me, Mello--what's wrong?" He seemed so calm, so smooth--my rock, wasn't he? Matt was always there for me, a true friend.

He was more a brother to me than he was a cousin.

And certainly a much better "brother" than Near.

I wanted to gag over the word but it would have been impolite in front of Matt, who was being nothing but kind to me. I tried to give him my best smile, hoping my eyes showed him passion and caring, but not the heartbreak--anything but that. I was so broken inside...so hurt...

"Hold me, Matty," I begged of him, using my nickname for him even as I released him again, my arms sliding down to wrap around his waist so I could tuck myself into him. I didn't want to stand alone--I was afraid my legs would give out.

Or so I told myself. The feel of his arms was comforting though and at the moment, that's all I could have wanted...

...besides L back. Impossibility.

Who would bring me my chocolates now? Those special chocolates from around the world? The ones L always brought me when he came back from some exotic locale. My L-nii-san.

Gone forever...and he was so selfish, leaving us behind like that. I wanted to hate him, but the wound was too raw and hate is flavored and composed by salt, I've noticed. Right now, hate would only make the gapping hole in my chest hurt more...

...and I was sure that if I hurt anymore, _I _was going to die.

Matt was making soothing noises and kept saying stuff like "We'll get by" and "We'll move on" but my mind wasn't comprehending it. All I could think of was the fact that now that L was gone, we had to take his place--and we were still kids...and I missed my aniki...and I wanted chocolate...

Lots of chocolate. Eat it all until I got sleepy and couldn't keep my eyes open. A chocolate coma. That'd be nice.

I didn't want to live without aniki.

"Aniki is...dead." I told him as quietly as I could, secretly harboring the hope that by not saying it aloud, it would reverse the whole thing. My voice came out on a breath, as a hoarse whisper.

"I know," Matt told me and I didn't bother to ask _how_ he knew. It was probably more eavesdropping, but...ugh, my head hurt so much and my eyes were tired. I could feel the headache building. The rage was running out of me like water and I found myself unable to stand. Desperately, I clung to Matt.

"Hold me, Matty," I whispered again, "I think the world is ending."

He made a sound low in his throat--one that could have been agreement or a rebuttal or a thousand things in between but which was, at that exact moment, everything I needed.

I smiled into the fabric of his shirt, smelling the lingering scent of cigarette smoke. It comforted me.

Matt petted me, running his hand over my hair. "It's not ending, Mel...just starting again." He sighed, "Now, it's our turn."

I couldn't help it--I snorted. "It's...kinda scary, isn't it?" I didn't want to admit it but...knowing if L was no longer in the world and that we, just children really, were expected to fill in his place...

...it made me quake in the night and was quite frequently the subject of my nightmares. I loved L. I didn't want to ruin his memory.

His legacy.

_We_ were his legacy, after all...Matty, myself...and Near.

I wanted to growl.

Matt patted my shoulder, placating me. "Hush. We have to get out of here." He was glancing around, I saw, "We've got to get up to the room."

I nodded, "All right. I want to rest." I sighed, "With you beside me, for eternity...please."

He laughed good-naturedly at me, his eyes sparkling with a sort of repressed amusement I couldn't bring myself to feel. Everything was fun and jokes and moving-on with Matt--he didn't care about anything outside the orphanage and L.

So carefree. I wanted to take a bite out of him. Maybe, if I did, he'd become like a magic chocolate bar full of apathy jelly...and I wouldn't feel anymore...

...and I could finally breathe again.

We moved up the stairs to my bedroom and slipped inside, locking the door behind us. The bed was our next destination, our bodies sliding between the cool sheets and coming together, arms wrapping and legs twisting around each other. We smiled at each other, though my smile felt a little uncomfortable and sharp on my own lips.

I was so tired.

"Off to sleep, cousin." Matt touched my forehead with the tips of his fingers and I sighed, understanding. My hand slipped over the curve of his hip and found its way into the back pocket of his jeans to touch the plastic edge of his game controller. I was the only one allowed to do that.

Matt reached over my shoulder and into the bedside table drawer, retrieving a chocolate bar. I watched him unwrap it with deft, quick movements and then he was giving it to me and I opened my mouth for it.

The moment the richness hit my tongue, I felt sleepy--heavy and weighed down. I wanted to rest and drown in chocolate...

...if only to drown the visions of L with me.

Think of the chocolate, I ordered myself. Think of chocolate and Matty and Near's toys cracked and shattered and _broken_.

It comforted me.

"Goodnight, Matt." I yawned and snuggled into my pillow, letting the horror of the afternoon roll off my back with the waves of sheer exhaustion. I was so tired. The shock was setting in--or so my logical thoughts told me--but it seemed that I just couldn't fight it. I chose to sleep it off.

I would mourn properly for my L-nii-san in the morning.

"Night, Mel." Matt kissed my nose and I sleepily returned the favor.

As soon as my head hit the pillow again, I was gone. L was smiling at me and beckoning me forward to look at that box of Peruvian chocolates and an interesting puzzle he found in Japan. I only had to walk over to him, over there in the corner, in the shadows. I went to him, desperate to hug him, to talk to him.

To know he was alright.

And then oblivion took me away from my aniki, swallowing me up in the unconscious sleep of sorrow.

Darkness--sweet blissful darkness.

Amen.


	3. Telling the Heirs: Matt

**Author's Note:** Alright guys! Here's the concept. This is not a whole new story, nor are the stories inside meant to be taken as a chronological set of events. These are writing exercises that Dale and I have done while trying to get into the minds of our most beloved DN characters. So, please--don't flame us and tell us that the story "has no plot" or that it's "confusing". Please, just read, okay? It will help a hell of a lot more if you do. I'm smiling for you, by the way. Aha.

So anyway, there's the concept. If you don't like it, go away.

* * *

Exercise Concept: The last of my "Telling the Heirs" set--Matt. Like I said before, different character interactions, although some of the dialogue matches Mello's chapter. This, I believe, is my best one and I hope you like it. Because, so far, no one has. Thanks guys. Love, Chip.

* * *

Telling the Heirs: Matt

I leaned against the wall just beside the closed door and waited—just waited. Mello was in Roger's office and I could hear his voice raised—typical of my friend. I was younger than him by a year and yet…it seemed I was always the one to contain his temper for him. I would wait there for him. Ah well. That's what cousins were for.

My hair was in my eyes. I tried to blow it out and up but it just wouldn't stay, the heavy red-brown locks fighting me. With a sigh, I pushed my goggles up over my head and used them to hold my bangs back—the only method that worked, sadly.

Time and I weren't exactly friends; I didn't like waiting. My hands itched to do something and so I took to picking at the cord tied in a choker around my throat—the power cord of a game controller. I could feel the weight and flat shape of the controller itself in my back pocket of my jeans, almost begging for my attentions. Fuck it. I tugged on the draped middle of the cord and the controller slid out of my pocket with the ease of long practice, right into my hand. The texture of the smooth buttons and worn analog pad was familiar to me and comforting. It gave me something to do, as well.

I took the control between my hands, a blank screen appearing in my mind as I tried to envision the game I would be playing. It came to me instantly of course—I was craving a real game of Ninja Gaiden and that's what appeared on my screen. I beat the game weeks ago, of course, but it was still very entertaining, the mindless fighting and the unreal combat. It wasn't the real thing, naturally—but it would do.

I fought my way through the first level, defeating a large goon-squad of crony ninja who didn't stand a chance and the second level was literally child's play—I was flawless. The buttons were like reflexes beneath my fingers—every kick, every punch, a natural movement so ingrained in me that it was almost an involuntary action. Lost to the passage of time and the weight of boredom now, I didn't keep track of the minutes as well as I should have.

Just as I was defeating the mildly interesting boss at the end of the third level, I saw, from the corner of my eye, the door to Roger's office crack open. My finger snapped over the pause button and I looked up, catching sight of the white, ghost-child-like figure of Near as he slipped out of the room and closing the door behind himself. He looked at me, I looked at him—we looked at each other. Then, as usually happened between the two of us, he turned and shuffled away.

And, as was usual, I couldn't resist. "Hey Near!" I had to shout after him—I always did. Near hated me with the same passion Mello hated him. I couldn't imagine what I did to inspire that emotion in the normally apathetic baby but I couldn't deny that it was fun.

At the foot of the grand-stair, Near turned his head and looked at me, his silver, white-water eyes fixing to mine. "Yes, Matthew?" His voice was cold, like winter and porcelain broken over snow. That's how I saw Near was in my mind—soft and cold and sharp around the edges. A little bit like L-nii-san.

But…he called me Matthew. I hate that name and he knows it, too. I'm Matt—not Matthew. I stared him down, not afraid of those dead, ghost-eyes like all the others were. That little baby-brat would never scare me. I pushed past my distaste of him. "Aha. You wanna play a game with me, Near? I just beat the new Ninja Gaiden. I could use a new opponent."

Those dead eyes flickered, "Those are your games, Matthew. I do not play those types of games. They are…pointless." He turned to go, "Good day."

I sighed, "Don't be so antisocial, Near." I crossed my arms over my chest, tapping the end of my control on my chin. "Hmm, and just because it's not Advanced Tetris or Quantum Builder doesn't mean it's pointless." He turned to look over his shoulder again, our eyes met. "Come on, little ghost. It's good to take your mind off things sometimes. L-nii-san did. He loved his video-games."

For just a moment—a minute—I thought I saw the kid's eyes flash with something other than winter and ice, but then it was gone, just like that. What did I see? Longing? Maybe.

Maybe loneliness.

Near shook his head minutely, "L-nii-san is dead, Matthew. Perhaps he was playing video-games when he should have been working the case. Such distractions will be the death of the unwary." There was mild disdain in his voice, I could hear it.

L was dead. I knew it. I heard it from Roger—indirectly through the door—and it made me sad and cold on the inside. Damn L-nii-san for leaving us again, this time…for good. It seemed like a bad dream.

I was angry, too. No one talked about L-nii-san like that—even Near didn't have the right. No one did. L-nii-san was a genius! A brilliant, brilliant man and the best big brother we could've had…!

I wanted to shout it after him, but already he was going away, moving up the stairs in his peculiar fashion—on his hands and knees. I noticed he didn't have a toy with him and wondered where he left it. Then, I decided, I didn't care. Stupid Near. Fuck him.

As I turned away from the staircase—from Near—the door to Roger's office opened again, so swiftly that it drew the air through the room and flung it back. Mello was standing there in the door, glaring back over his shoulder at—I assumed—Roger. He was flushed in the face and I could see he was shaking—rage, again? I sighed and slipped my control back into my pocket.

I really didn't give a damn about anything outside this house, but inside…inside there was only Mello and myself and the things we did to get by. Cousins—family. Brothers, too. If he was upset, I'd have to stop playing my games for a little while and sort it out.

And then go back to Ninja Gaiden.

Mello slammed the door to Roger's office shut so hard that it shook the whole wall behind me, making the framed pictures of the house's other children rattle. I glanced up at them briefly—only a little concerned that they might fall on my head—and then moved away from them, following after Mello as he cursed under his breath. Blonde hair bounced a little as he moved down the hall, kicking at the side-boards and dressers and all manner of toys lying scattered around. He was moving toward the den, I could tell—but I didn't try to talk him out of it right that moment. It wouldn't be a good thing.

I followed silently behind him, careful to avoid the things he was kicking and the pieces of broken toys. His mumbled curses were gaining coherence—they always did. He kept saying something like "fuck Kira" and "fuck L" and "fuck Roger".

Fuck was Mello's favorite word.

He looked like an unhappy whirlwind—destroy, destroy, destroy. He wasn't getting any calmer as far as I could tell and we were rapidly nearing the den. There were wall-to-wall bookshelves in there and Roger's family photos—a lot of glass and a bunch of breakable things. Wincing—because I was very familiar with my cousin's temper—I dashed forward a few steps and laid a hand on Mello's shoulder, "Hey, Mello…wait up—!"

I was spun around so quickly, my eyes crossed and then I was very suddenly pinned against a wall, one hand pressing my shoulder back into the wood, while the other hand wrapped and pressed firmly around my windpipe, effectively cutting off my air. Not an unusual position to find myself in—I was prepared for it. Mello's grey-blue eyes leveled a glare at me and I was thankful for the fortitude inside myself that allowed me to meet it without flinching.

This, however, didn't seem to placate Mello. His eyes were full of heartbreak and anger and fear—I could see it, hear it in his voice. "Damn it, Matt, leave me alone!" He was shaking still too. Mello wasn't doing well and I…I had to help him.

"You're not scaring me, Mello." I kept my voice level and tried to project—like L-nii-san used to make me practice. My beloved cousin wasn't going to handle this well at all and he most certainly couldn't do it alone. I just had to make him ask for the comfort. I couldn't give it to him, just like that.

He'd kill me.

Currently, though—he was growling at me. I sighed, letting myself relax. "What's wrong, Mello? Tell me, huh?" Of course, I knew what was wrong. But…he needed to say it himself. When people were affected by grief, the most usual first responses were anger and shock; the best treatment for that was to make them talk about it, to make them talk and acknowledge what had happened.

I learned that in L-nii-san's psychology books.

Mello glared at me, his eyes burrowing into mine so that we were staring into each other's souls for a long moment; there was a tension in my chest, a shortage of breath. Then, just that quick, my cousin's blonde head bowed and he gave a tired-sounding sigh, "Damn you, Matt—you're the only one who won't fucking leave me alone when I fucking say so."

I tried to laugh but there was a hand still pressed annoyingly over my windpipe, "That's because I can't leave you, blondie. We're blood and you need me." I let my hand rise up, despite the fact that it felt as heavy as lead, to touch the ends of his beautiful hair. "Besides, you'd never beat those hard levels in Mario without me."

Something that could have been a laugh (if only it weren't so bitter) slipped from his lips, "Fuck you…I'm still older." And just like that, it was over. The storm passed and the rage left Mello's body so that he collapsed against me, his pinning hands sliding down to wrap around my waist in a sweet motion. Right there, in the rather-public area of the hallway, he burrowed his face into my neck.

"Matty," he whispered raggedly, "Hold me."

I did. I pulled him in and squeezed tightly, knowing his need for security. I wanted to give it to him, really—he was always the big, strong one…always striving to be best and always falling short. It was his one vulnerability, his only failing.

Or, so I thought. It appeared L-nii-san was a weakness for all of us heirs.

Heirs. Left behind.

"L-nii-san," Mello whispered into my ear, almost too quietly to hear, "Aniki is…dead."

I squeezed him harder—so hard I thought I might crush his bones, but…he was always so much stronger, so that was impossible wasn't it? Instead, I could feel him squeezing me in return, shaking all the while. I sighed into his hair, "I know, I know. I heard from Near."

Mello shook hard that time. "Fucking Near." He coughed, clearing his throat a little. "L's dead and Roger wants us to work together. Near and I and you." He coughed again, "Fucking Near." He sniffled, "Stupid-big-headed cry-baby Near."

My hand rose to slide down over his hair, petting him…

The first drops of moisture fell and slid down over my neck—I could feel their wetness and almost winced, as if I'd been burned with battery acid. Tears. Mello. Tears. I wanted to cry now too. I could feel the burn behind my own eyes. Ah hell.

Struggling to stay strong against it, I grabbed him by the arms and turned him, dragging him behind me down the corridor and back toward the staircase. His steps were clumsy and we almost ran into a large vase standing on a low table. I cursed. My vision was blurring with tears.

"Come on, Mello—we've got to get out of here."

"We've got to get out of here."

I glanced over my shoulder, not liking the way he was parroting me. This broken Mello wasn't the one I was most used to. I liked my strong, angry Mello. Teary, crying Mello was just…hopeless.

I dragged us up the staircase, one step at a time; Mello, moving beside me, was like an automaton. I pushed on though, making it all the way up to the second floor and down the long, long hall. One corner after another. Turn after turn. It seemed to take forever to drag Mello down the same corridors we could race through in under a minute.

The door to my room loomed up first and I stumbled into the it, turning the knob with my free hand and lumbering through the doorway. Again, I swung the door and it closed behind us—but we were falling and we landed hard, in the middle of the floor just beside my game console and controllers.

I glanced over them to check that they were unharmed—my precious system slumbering so quietly—and then turned away.

Mello was murmuring to himself again.

"We've got to get out of here…" He was staring at the wall, unmoving—nothing but his lips, moving continuously.

I tried to draw him out of it. "Mello?"

"We've got to get out of here…" He didn't seem to hear me and that pissed me off.

I tried again, louder this time. "Mello?"

"We've got to get out of—"

Before he could finish that sentence, I slapped him, tired of hearing the same thing over and over. He seemed to wake then, coming out of whatever trance he was in—to glare at me. "What?" He sounded defensive…and there, glistening in his eyes, were tears.

Damnit. "Nothing, cousin." I turned my head to give him a moment to dry his eyes, even as I surreptitiously wiped my own with the back of my sleeve.

Moments passed—more than one or two. I turned my head to look at him again and found him looking at me, his eyes watchful and careful and full of some cold, dull pain I couldn't begin to guess at. Did he really miss L-nii-san so much? I did too, of course, but…

Mello seemed to be dying inside.

I ached to make it better for him, to make him feel better. But what to say? I had no idea what to say; I wasn't feeling what he was—what could I say?

"What's wrong?" I kept my voice smooth, calm. I wanted to comfort him.

Grey-blue eyes stared into mine, "I'm afraid, Matty. I'm afraid." For him to make such a confession seemed out of character—so much so that I actually sat up on my elbows to stare down at him.

My Mello—my strong cousin, my angry lover Mello—was never afraid.

"What? Of what, Mel?" I used my nickname for him, an automatic thing. "We'll get along without L-nii-san. It will be hard, yea…because we'll miss him…but…" I trailed off, seeing the way the darkness fell over his eyes.

He fell into silence, saying nothing. When he finally did speak, it was some moments later and his tone was more serious…darker. A chill swept up my spine—I suddenly remembered that my cousin Mello, older than me by a year, had a horrific temper.

I was prepared for the punch—for violence of some kind…but not for the sudden still calm, like the eye of a hurricane. He gazed straight into my eyes, solid.

"No, Matty—not this time. I've decided…to leave. I'm leaving Wammy's House." He shook his head as I started to protest, "No, no…don't say anything. I'm leaving…and I want you to come with me." His tone bespoke his decision, even as his eyes still held the dissipating ghosts of anger and tears.

I know my face must have registered my shock, "Leave? You want me to leave too?" I could see by the way his lips tensed that this wasn't what he wanted to hear and I backpedaled hastily. My strong Mello was back, obviously, with a vengeance.

I tried again. "Where will we go?"

He shrugged, "Somewhere. We have money—aniki took care of that for all of us. We could…go to Greece. Or back to Russia. Wouldn't that be fun?" He didn't sound as elated as he was trying to portray.

I chose not to point it out.

"But what about your clothes and the rosary collection? And my games and my glasses…and the console? The thought of leaving my precious console pained me—actually physically hurt. "And chocolate and cigarettes?" I tried to point out all those things, those little things we once said we couldn't live without.

He waved it off with one hand, "We can buy more. I told you, we have money." Then he paused, looking at me speculatively, "Or, we could always…ya know…steal something."

Again, I chose not to comment. Our thieving days were supposed to be over when we left Russia, when Roger and Watari brought us to Wammy's.

"Mel…I don't know…"

Imperiously, he cut his hand through the air, "Either you're with me or you're not, Matty. We're cousins, remember? Blood and friendship and all that? You said you couldn't leave me." He gazed deeply into my eyes, "And that goes for you, too. I can't leave you."

I stared at him. He stared at me.

Cousins.

Friends.

Lovers.

I loved him, didn't I?

I took a deep breath and plunged head-long into his words.

"Alright, Mel. Tonight. We'll leave tonight."

He smiled at me and patted my shoulder, "I knew you'd see it my way. There's nothing to pack. We've got each other. That's enough."

I smiled at him and we both laid back down together.

Mello said we'd be okay. Mello was my brother, my cousin…my friend. Older, sometimes wiser—beautiful and intelligent. We could survive, he said, we could do it.

I wasn't so sure… but…

…for him…

…to stay with him, be with him…live with him…

…I was willing to try.


End file.
